Dingo
by Aranea Porcus
Summary: {Din·go [ding-goh] —noun, plural din·goes. Dingoes come in all shapes and sizes, and are the working partner of a Letter Bee. They assist in combating Gaichuu, although they usually used as a distraction to allow the Bee to fire their shindan at the armored insects.} This is a small collection of stories about Bees, and more importantly, their dingoes.
1. Roda

**Disclaimer applies to every chapter: I own nothing but my words. Also, all chapters are referenced from only the anime!verse.****These few chapters will be quite short, but I hope you like it nonetheless!**

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Roda

Roda stirred from a dreamless sleep. Around her lay numerous old carpets and makeshift tents belonging to other non-Spirits who lived in Blue Notes Scale with her. The ice around the frozen gaichuu acted as mirrors, reflecting whatever light entering the ice cave, shrouding the cave in an ethereal shade of cold blue. Noir lay beside Roda and he rolled over, eyebrows furrowed from a fitful dream, as Roda sat up noiselessly on their tattered rug.

Roda looked up at the luminescent crystals that hung from the roof of the cave – they were of shades of green and purple, and threatened to fall on them at any moment. Deeper inside the cave were the Maka and its daughter. Despite taking the non-Spirits in with them they usually stayed out of sight – except for the Daughter, who often came to look at them or to join them in whatever they were doing. The Daughter reminded Roda of a child – unused to civilisation; unsure of how to speak to them.

Roda glanced down at Noir. His white hair needed a trim, and it covered his face, just brushing his eyelashes. His lips were parted in sleep, but as she watched it seemed that they were moving – as if he were whispering to her, or to people beyond her reach. Roda felt a sense of admiration well up from inside her – she found Noir strong, in a cold, distant way, although his eyes usually held a warmth just enough to melt blocks of ice. Roda's thoughts wandered to the past, and she revisited memories she refused to let go.

_"Your hand,"_ Roda remembered herself say, back when she and Noir were still in Reverse. She remembered Noir's white arms, bandaged to stop the bleeding, and his hands, that had stretched out to take hers. Roda remembered the feeling of Noir's palm against her own – delicate, papery and cold. Roda remembered, and she looked down at her hands, clenching and unclenching them, as if trying to grasp the feeling of Noir's hand against her own. She hadn't touched Noir's hands in a long time, it seemed.

Roda remembered when Noir had given her her name. They had been looking down from a cliff at nothing in particular, and they had been talking about something Roda couldn't remember. He'd given her the name, "Roda", and after she'd tested it out on her tongue Roda had found that she liked it. Having a name – the thought of having a name that belonged to her, and not just a serial number – had given her purpose. _I am Roda_, she remembered herself thinking. _That's my name._ Roda remembered herself looking at Noir, and thinking, _And I am his dingo._

Roda remembered being a dingo, and fighting with, and for Noir. She remembered the church, and Lawrence, and Signal and Signaless, and the white-haired boy and his second-rate dingo. She remembered curious things – of Noir in a blue uniform and another white-haired boy – or was he the same as the one before? She couldn't tell. Those memories had to be from one of the animals fused with her, for sure, but Roda didn't know why she could remember only those, but nothing else.

"Roda."

Noir was awake, but his voice was quiet. Roda looked away quickly – his purple eyes always seemed to see into her mind and know exactly what she was thinking. She heard the rustle of clothes as he sat up beside her, and barely flinched as his arm brushed against hers.

"You're not asleep," he continued, still looking at her. He had a way of asking questions that didn't sound like questions, and Roda found it very odd.

"I was thinking."

"Of?"

"You," Roda's reply came as a whisper. She drew her knees to her chest as her stomach twisted – in a good way, and flinched again as Noir sucked in a breath.

"Of me?"

"Yes." Roda turned to look at him, and it was Noir's turn to jump – as if he thought she was looking into his mind and knew everything he thought. Seconds after, he regained his cool composure, and hummed a noncommittal reply, leaving Roda to wonder if what she did was wrong. _Was_ it wrong? Did other dingoes do this? What was _this_? Roda was swimming into uncharted waters, touching and knowing things she had not dealt with before.

The air and the silence between them grew thin and delicate, and as Roda breathed she feared that she might break that moment with even a small movement of her hands, or even the whisper of a word. Her breath formed white clouds of moisture, twisting and spiralling into thin air.

"Thank you," Noir suddenly said, startling Roda, who then looked at him, her ears pink from the cold. "...For thinking of me," Noir continued, and he looked at the ground.

"It's okay," Roda answered, having nothing else to say. She turned back and felt heat rush to her ears, and let out a warm breath, watching it turn to mist, suspended in the cold blue air. Noir got up without a sound, and said that they should go into town today to find jobs, food, and clothing. He would leave a message for the others to do the same, he said. Roda nodded in silent agreement, and rubbed the sleep and cold from her charred arms. Just as she was about to stand Noir stretched out a hand towards her, the intensity of his eyes shocking her a little.

"Your hand," he said softly, his eyes smiling. Roda took it, the pink spreading from her ears to her cheeks, and she noticed his hands – delicate, papery and _warm_.

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**I started with Roda only because she's amazing and she's my favourite. uwu****  
****Not everything will be shippy I promise I promise I cross my heart and swear that not everything will be shippy—**


	2. Gus

**This is about a valiant attempt to get to the kitchen for some bacon.**

**Bree: Thank you!****  
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Gus  
  
_Sniff._  
There it was.  
_Sniff, sniff._  
There it was again – that unmistakable scent of frying bacon.

Gus rose from his position on the floor of Connor's bedroom, and trotted out into the corridor, his nose keenly trailing the delicious smell of food. Saliva watered in his mouth, and Gus trotted – even faster this time – out into the kitchen, where the _sizzle-pop_ of oil and meat could be heard most clearly. Connor stood at the stove, a frying pan in his hand, and the current cause of Gus' hunger pangs in it.

Almost as soon as Gus entered the kitchen Conner had ignored the bacon entirely, choosing to squat down and pat Gus on the head. "Gus, I'm home!" he cried, and Gus barked. _Your bacon is burning._

"Ah, Gus, I knew you were happy to see me too!"

Bark, bark. '_Your bacon is burning, you childish imbecile.'_

"A-ah! My bacon!"

Growl, bark. '_Tsk. Other than that, I can't believe you're eating something other than pizza for once.'_

"Gus, are you hungry too?" Connor lifted the pan off the stove, and put the bacon strips on a china plate, then placed the pan in the sink. The smell of freshly fried bacon filled Gus' nostrils and he stood on hind legs, supporting his heavy body on Connor's belly, his muzzle snapping at the plate as Connor held it out of Gus' reach.

"Woah, down, boy! Bacon isn't good for you! Hold on, let me get you your canned food," Connor put his plate on the counter next to his stove, away from Gus' paws.

Gus began to whine, then barked again. '_I'm hungry, feeeeeed me! __**Nooow**__! Don't talk about bacon not being good for me – it clearly isn't good for you either!'_

Connor ignored him and reached for a can of dog food, emptied its contents into Gus' food bowl, and set it in front of the dog. Gus sat on the floor and stared sullenly at the cylindrical block of reddish-brown mush in front of him. A musty smell came from it, and Gus found his appetite slowly imploding into itself.

"Eat up! The can says it tastes like duck, so it should taste good, too! I wonder if it really tastes like duck. Hmm... Oh well. Bon appetit!" Connor grabbed a fork, and began to stab at his bacon slices before pulling over a wooden stool and eating beside Gus, who emitted a low whine.

_'It tastes like rats.'_

"I can't believe you didn't want to come with me, though... I could've been robbed on the way, Gus! Come with me next time!"

_'Don't be stupid, it's just the market. I know that even __**you**__ can handle yourself there.'_

"Eeeh? What's that growl supposed to mean? Gus..." Gus snorted at Connor's overreaction, and began to grudgingly force the dog food down his throat. As Connor continued his whining Gus couldn't help but give a small sigh. '_Why can't you be sensible for once? I know you're capable of it, you immature fool...'_

But then all of a sudden a horrible itch struck that _blasted_ spot behind Gus' head that he couldn't touch and he began to paw at his ears. Connor noticed it and smiled, then scratched Gus' ears for him, and Gus began to involuntarily kick his hind leg, leaning into Connor's hand in delight. Gus' stumpy tail began to wag gratefully, and he couldn't help but notice how comforting Connor's hand was.

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**Endings? What are they? (Urgh sorry I'll try better next time round)**


	3. Bolt

**This takes place a little after Gauche's disappearance.**

**YagamiNoir: Here you go! :D****  
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Bolt  
  
Bolt's muscles ached. So did his bones. He gave a little stretch on the carpet beside the fire, popping his joints and sighing softly in relief. It was cold outside, and the chill seeped into the house through the cracks in the window pane, causing Bolt to sneeze. Alone in Aria's apartment, his only entertainment was watching the fire hiss and crackle and trying to keep himself as warm as possible. Sure, his coat was long and he was used to Amberground's climate by now, but he was getting old, and heat was a luxury Bolt was determined to have.

Bolt wondered about what Aria was doing then. She was one of the few humans he could remember – he had forgotten most of them, after not seeing them for a long while. She had a habit of coming home later and later – probably due to her work. Bolt could almost always smell the tiredness on her, and sometimes he could even smell the acrid stench of alcohol through her clothes.

He did his best to comfort her, he did – and when she got back he would often drag her to the bath or to the bed in his persistent way of telling her to get some rest. She would only make an attempt to pet him, most times missing his head entirely, and tell him what a good boy he was. The smile she had on her face then was something Bolt grew to detest, and more often than not he felt like he was the one taking care of her, not the other way around – especially since, if you counted in dog years, he was much older than she.

Taking care of Aria was nothing new to him, though. Even when she was a regular Bee he was already looking out for her, for she would often trip over air or slip on wet rocks at least twenty times before reaching their destination. Sometimes Bolt had to carry her violin while she limped along, but he was a hardworking dog and did not complain.

The door opened with a sudden click and Bolt was startled out of his thoughts. As he stood his tail began to wag slowly, but his ears flattened and eyes narrowed when he smelled the alcohol on Aria as she stumbled in, red-faced and with a dreamy smile on. Aria waved and stumbled to the sofa, where she threw off her bag and all her clothes and resigned to groggily digging herself a spot in the sofa and lying there in only her undergarments.

Bolt growled, nosed the door closed, and made his way over to her, licking her arm in an attempt to pester her into going sleep on her bed instead of on the sofa like that. Aria's eyes opened sleepily and she smiled. "Good boy," she said, her voice airy and wavering. A hand reached out to touch his ears but missed, and her arm ended up flopping down the side of the couch. Bolt's ears flattened, and he licked her arm again, growling as he did so, but Aria only grumbled at him to go away, and rolled over so her face was buried in cushions, leaving Bolt crestfallen and downright disappointed with his old master.

_Where has she gone?_ Bolt asked himself with a whine. His old Aria, she who cared like a mother and hugged like a friend – she, whose soul was kind and brave, and whose eyes were filled with light – where was she? Surely, this splitting image of her, the woman on the sofa in front of him, could not be her. She couldn't be.

Bolt sniffed and stiffly made his way upstairs, taking hold of a blanket between what remained of his teeth and dragged it down, before he tried his best to cover Aria with it. She sighed, already deep into sleep, and pulled the covers around her, silky, platinum gold threads of hair falling perfectly around her pale shoulders. The stench of alcohol permeated the walls, and the fire warmed them both. Bolt blinked slowly, old, clouded eyes taking in Aria's sleepy form with a sense of weariness, before settling down at the foot of the sofa into a listless sleep.

Bolt's muscles ached. So did his bones. But above all, his heart ached the most.


	4. Harry

**This one's really short, because I don't remember us having all that many shots of Harry, and I don't really have that much of an impression of him w. Sorry for taking so long – I have exams in a few weeks and I can't get much (read: anything) done ahhahaha**

**Bree: Thanks! :)**

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Harry

Free.

That was how Harry felt, whenever he cruised in the skies of Amberground. Below him, the land spread out endlessly – stretch after stretch of barren plain. Whenever Harry flew, he never cut the air – he always allowed the winds to do as they pleased, taking him far and wide – It was as if the wind were the sea, and Harry an expert sailor. Harry often felt as though he were one with the dry air, with the chilly wind, and he often savoured the feel of the cool air along his feathers. It was how Jiggy Pepper must've felt, too, when he drove down Amberground's land, his Iron Horse making a nasty purr. In front of him were mountains, their purple-shaded peaks hidden in wispy clouds, and behind him were the cities he left behind – each one with their own distinct charm.

He and Jiggy were one and the same, the hawk had decided not long after they started working together. Harry wanted to see the world with his own eyes, and Jiggy wanted to help people with his own hands. The both of them possessed incredible stamina – the human was able to cruise on the land for kilometres at an end, while the hawk was able to fly in the skies for as long as he pleased.

However, they still weren't as close as many other Bees and dingoes – that probably came as a result of Harry's role, which was to pick up letters from people all over Amberground and pass them to Jiggy – but the both of them shared a special connection; a sort of mutual knowing, perhaps. It had to be like that, for Harry always knew where Jiggy was even though they were miles apart, and he was always able to deliver the letters to his partner on time. Harry never hated his job – he took pride in it, as any self-respecting bird of prey would – but he often wondered why Jiggy couldn't simply pick the letters up himself. Still, it _was_ a part of his job requirements, and he would do it just so that he could fly.

They did spend time together, occasionally, perhaps in the shoddy room of a small motel. They wouldn't talk, though, and would only look out the window, each keeping their thoughts to themselves. But they understood each other well enough, both lusting for freedom in their own way. Harry hardly ever thought about what they'd be like if they were closer – it was fine like this. They didn't need to know all that much about each other – they were working partners, and that was it. To them, the other was nothing more than decent company, and an understanding soul.

Harry understood, and he never asked for anything more, because the two were as apart yet as alike as the dusty ground and the endless sky – running alongside each other till the end of time, but never to meet.

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**Y'know that feeling when your friend's really similar to some other friend you know, but the both of them aren't exactly close...? Yep, that's it.**


	5. Wasiolka

Wasiolka  
  
Wasiolka couldn't remember when she had first met the boy. It was one of those things that just happened and that you slowly forgot over the course of better things that came. Whenever Zazie asked her jokingly under which circumstances had they met, she would rack her brain for an answer, or perhaps a certain memory, but she found none. It didn't matter to her, either way, because she was too busy being around him then to care about the past. _It must've been nice_, she thought. _When he picked me up._

She and Zazie had seared an unbreakable bond, and that was a bond that she was determined to honour. They weren't just working partners, not like some other dingoes, they were each other's halves. Zazie would feed and play with her, and in return she protected him in the day from gaichuu, and longed to protect him from the monsters that ravaged his mind in sleep – monsters who made him cry out in his sleep and breathe **hard** and _fast_.

However she could do no such thing, and the only consolation she could provide during those times was her purring – and in answer to that Zazie would hold on to her and whisper things into her fur – words that she could not hear nor understand, for they were not for her. She guessed that maybe only humans could see those monsters and hear those words, and so whenever Zazie had one of those nights she'd tell him, over and over, _If I were human, I'd chase them away for you._ But she was not human, and Zazie could not hear her, just as she could not hear him.

However, Zazie was always okay whenever he was properly awake, and he and she could play their game of acting coy and pretending they didn't care for each other, although hours later the both of them would be seen fooling around together, with Zazie pulling Wasiolka by the tail or with the other jumping on the boy's back. It was then that Wasiolka could purr contentedly, Prussian blue irises thinning in happiness, and the sound of Zazie's laughter would ring out loudly, often drawing dirty looks from passers-by.

That was okay too, Wasiolka thought, running down one of the cobblestone streets in the marketplace, just as Zazie vaulted over a crate of apples. She followed suit, chasing after the sound of Zazie's laughter and the shouts of vendors. _It would be nice if we could do this all the time_, Wasiolka thought as she leapt over small children, scaring them silly, and as she darted between push carts, following Zazie through the hubbub of the market. Flocks of birds with dappled grey feathers scattered noisily at Wasiolka's feet, and she felt as if she could run forever.

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**I keep harping on Zazie having panic attacks that stem from vivid nightmares because this is a Really Big Headcanon of mine ehehehe,,,**


	6. Darwin

**My exams are over so I'm finally back! It's been too long.****Darwin's story is really one of the saddest I've ever come upon. I also imagine him as a really stubborn, loyal dog, so I tried to put his stubbornness and grief in here, too (quite obviously).****  
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Darwin  
  
Sleepy eyes peered out at the moving world from under a mop of grubby fur. Flies buzzed around cream ears that were dulled with age. However, the person – no – dog in question paid no mind to such annoying things, his concentrated attention on the people who walked by him.

The city was moving too fast for Darwin, he had decided years ago. He was stuck in a time of his own at the foot of the bridge near Olympia Lake – stuck in a time of brown-haired girls and dull, metal-plated charms. It was bothersome to move, and although Darwin had already spent numerous years of his life rotting away at the foot of that bridge he could not bear to leave, because maybe his brown-haired girl might come back to pick him up. She might've grown older, or she might have not. But Darwin could be sure that when he saw her, he could be able to recognize her by her smile and her voice: _"Darwin means 'dear friend'. Isn't that right, Darwin?"__  
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But the days grew to be too long for a waiting dog, and so he spent most of his time sleeping and feeding off scraps from kind elders. He'd had his share of stones thrown by ruffian children and had more than enough of those pesky ticks, but what annoyed him the most was the man with slate-grey hair – the man who came to pester him day after day, hoping foolishly that perhaps he would give up his position at the foot of the bridge.

Darwin had never liked him, not even when he was just a boy. He disliked him even more as a man, because he was taller and bigger and at least thirty times more annoying. Besides, who was he to tell Darwin not to wait? Obviously, he didn't understand how Elena ever felt. He didn't even have a dingo – there was no way he could understand how grief and regret slowly gnawed away at Darwin every time he woke and found his companion missing, or how heart-wrenching it was to watch her walk away and never come back. He didn't know how awful it felt to know, beneath everything he forced himself to think, that it was his fault for being incompetent; for being too much of a burden; for not being insistent enough – and it was because of all those reasons that Elena left his side.

There was no variation of their circumstances where the bespectacled man would have ever cared for Elena as much as Darwin had, Darwin knew for sure. The man wasn't stupid – didn't he know that Darwin understood death, and that although he hoped day and night for Elena's return he knew, deep down, that she would never, ever—

Darwin hadn't moved in decades, but he was no slower than he was years ago when he, fuelled by rage, bit the leg of the snide fellow. "Ow!" He began to shout, but Darwin kept a death grip on his leg though his worn-out teeth couldn't even puncture the man's trousers.

_Don't tell me what to do!_ Furious eyes glared at the man as Darwin let go, leaping back onto the ground where he stood on legs as frail as twigs, quivering slightly. _I'll wait if I want. I'll stay for as long as I want!_ A low growl which grew into a raspy bark erupted from Darwin's throat as he snapped his jaws threateningly, ears pressed against the flat of his head.

"You're a stubborn dog," the man said, a crooked smile hanging on his face like a broken, splintered signboard.

_And you are an awful man._ Darwin stayed where he was, watching as the man turned his back on him for what was hopefully the final time, his body still trembling and his heart still grieving.


End file.
